


Hidden Weakness

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [44]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Loki (Marvel), Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, POV Loki (Marvel), Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Loki discovers one of your greatest weaknesses, and quickly files it away in his memory.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 13
Kudos: 223





	Hidden Weakness

He’d discovered it by accident, really. Your secret weakness. 

You were, for quite some time, just about the only inhabitant of the Tower who didn’t seem painfully uncomfortable around him. You didn’t give him wary looks out of the corner of your eye when you thought he wasn’t looking, the way most of the others did. When you were in the same room together, he didn’t get the sense that you kept yourself wound tight, ready to spring into action if he suddenly morphed back into the person he was Before. But, at the same time, you weren’t constantly wheedling him like Thor could, always pressing for attention as if to show that he did, in fact, belong here with everyone else. No, there was a stillness about you that others lacked, and it was almost pleasant.

So you spent a lot of time together. If he wasn’t isolating himself in his room (mostly for his own sanity) or trying not to roll his eyes at Thor, he was in a common area with you. Or he was walking through the city with you. He hated the way people on the streets stared, mouths agape, but maybe—secretly—he did like the way you always squared your shoulders and grabbed his hand when you noticed the staring. 

You were alright.

You didn’t speak often, and never just to fill a silence, but when you did, you were smart. He didn’t mind talking to you. In fact, he rather liked it. You could hold your own against him when he was feeling particularly irritable: you fired back at him just as fiercely as he could, and, all too often, you wound up making him laugh himself out of his mood. You made life in the Tower more than bearable, and sometimes, when he was feeling especially sentimental, he found himself wanting to tell you that.

He never did, of course, but the idea was there.

He hadn’t intended to ferret out your weakness. He’d been in the sitting room, alone, idly flipping through the obscene number of television channels. He wasn’t normally one for mindless television, but every so often, he would stumble across something that could hold his attention for a time. You’d come in through the doorway and beamed when you saw him. The others, they always seemed to hesitate for a moment before walking into a room if they saw that he was there. You never did. If anything, you always seemed to develop a little extra bounce in your step when you saw him, like you were excited to see him. If that were possible. You flopped down onto the sofa beside him and nudged him with your elbow. There was some program on somewhere that you wanted to watch, you said, and you’d made your eyes go all wide and pleading at him.

He liked it when you looked at him like that. Sometimes it made him laugh. Sometimes it made something stir within him. That was always a little concerning even if, ultimately, he found he...liked it. But there was just a little too much calculation behind your eyes today. Perhaps he’d gone a bit soft lately, and given in to you too many times. So he let his face harden and tucked the remote between his leg and the arm of the sofa.

You’d pleaded even harder, even begged, and it was hard to refuse when you started offering bargains to him— _please, Loki, I’ll do whatever you want_ —but he made himself shake his head and ignore you. He pretended to be very interested in whatever was flashing across the screen and did his best not to twitch when you put your hand on his arm. You didn’t touch him nearly enough. He imagined you thought you were being respectful and giving him space, but he could see how touchy you were with the others and it always made him feel...well, uncomfortably jealous. You let your fingers drift up his arm, then squeezed his shoulder, then with a flash of realization offered to give him a massage if he would let you change the channel.

It was a tempting offer, but he held firm. 

He nearly lost himself when you all but threw yourself across his lap. He could feel you reaching for the remote, your nimble fingers sliding easily along his leg as you searched for your prize, but he closed his fingers around your wrist to hold you in place. He was laughing. It was so easy for you to make him laugh. In trying to free yourself from his grasp, you shifted a bit too much and he felt you start to slip off of the sofa—and his lap. He slid his other arm around your waist to hoist you a bit higher, and immediately felt you crumple. At first, he was afraid that he’d hurt you, but then the sound of your laughter made its way to his ears, and he couldn’t keep from grinning. 

You were ticklish. Rather alarmingly so, in fact, given how you began to squirm. He hadn’t meant to tickle you at first, but now that he knew better, he pressed his fingers into your rib cage with more intent. You gasped for breath, search for the remote forgotten, and tried your hardest to grab his hand to make him stop. He was too agile for that, and he did not stop until you were whining breathlessly against him.

“Mercy,” you gasped. “Please.” He had to admire the begrudging note in your voice: as desperate as you were, you clearly didn’t like having to give in to him. He let his hand go still against you, and you laid there on top of him for a few moments to catch your breath. When you had, you tried to pull your hand away from his leg, but he kept his grip on you just a little too long. Oops.

“I will always win, darling,” he purred, doing his best to make it look like he’d held on to you to make a point, instead of simply because he liked the feel of your skin. Your eyes were bright, shining with laughter and exertion, and it was very hard for him to look away. “ _Especially_ now that I’ve discovered your weakness.”

You huffed, a little indignant, and sat up onto your knees beside him. It occurred to him, then, that he shouldn’t feel such a sense of loss at the fact that you were no longer in his lap. You reached up to smooth your hair back, and he couldn’t resist letting his hand slide down along your side. You twitched as though to defend yourself against him, but when you realized that he wasn’t trying to tickle you again, you only laughed. You sounded nervous.

“I’ll find yours,” you promised, eyes wide and burning with determination. He took in the sight of you: the heaviness in your brows and the set of your jaw, and had to hold back his smile. It seemed that you had not yet realized what you did to him, and it was probably in his best interest to keep that to himself for a little while longer.

“Oh, I am Loki of Asgard, pet,” he warned. “You’ll find that I _have_ no weaknesses.” Without truly meaning to, he let his hand continue stroking your side, pressing just hard enough to keep from tickling you. He allowed himself only a moment to wonder what you might feel like beneath that shirt, or spread out below him, and had to look away from you before you could read it in his eyes.

You put your hand over his, lacing your fingers between his own. Rather than pulling it away from you as he might have expected, you simply...squeezed, and then pressed his touch more firmly against you. He tried not to read too deeply into the fact that you wanted him closer, or at least that you didn’t hate the fact that he was touching you. He kept his eyes fixed on the screen and, after a few more moments, you huffed quietly and readjusted your position on the sofa so that your legs were stretched out on the cushions in front of you and your back was pressed to his side. Now it was his turn to fight for breath. You had never sat so close to him before, but he could feel the warmth of your body right there. His hand rested on your belly now, simply from the way you had moved. A small part of him wanted to dig his fingers into you there, too, so he could feel you squirm and plead again, but he didn’t dare. This felt like something too precious to spoil. You let out a long breath and relaxed a little more fully against him. How was that even possible? _Him_.

You turned your head, then, to look at the television, and the position allowed you to rest your head on his chest. He was afraid to move, afraid that even breathing too hard would disturb you and make you retreat to a safer distance, so he’d lose your warmth. “So what are we watching?”

He looked at the screen, only to realize that absolutely nothing playing there could possibly be more important than what was happening right now. It was an uncomfortable realization, but he could not deny the truth of it. He sighed carefully and dug the remote out of the cushions to hand it to you without a word. You tilted your head backwards to beam up at him, and this time he allowed himself to smile back at you. 

Oh, you were _dangerous_. But, he decided as you changed the channel and settled a little more firmly against him, he liked danger.


End file.
